This Is My Life

I think I've discovered the reason behind my unwillingness to leave my children for any length of time. (Besides the need to sniff and hold and see them, I mean. And besides the little, uptight control freak in me who wants to know exactly what they're doing at all times. And besides the sense of loss and separation which comes over me when I become more than 20 feet away from them. And besides the sense of jealousy when someone else gets to be with them instead of me. Besides all that.)

(Now, I can't remember if 'besides' is a word, or if it's supposed to be 'beside'. It looks like something I just made up now that I've written it so many times in a row. I'm so confused...)

The deeper reason isn't a pretty one. It's a fear. A selfish, lazy fear.

I've been afraid that upon spending any real length of time away from my children, I'd just...not want to be a mom any more. That I'd bask in the glow of free time and peaceful days all in a row, and be disappointed when it came time to return to my real life. That I'd suddenly see my life for what it must really be: mundane. Tiring.

When I became a stay at home mom, it wasn't because I couldn't bear to be away from my baby. At least, not entirely. There was a good portion of me that needed to keep myself firmly planted in my role. Going back and forth from a day job to my family life would have felt like pulling up roots at each place when it was time to go, and re-learning how to live in either place. I know I would have gotten used to being a working mom, but when the moment came to decide, I couldn't imagine myself doing it. I couldn't imagine being immersed in the 'real world' of adults and reason and relative calm, and then having to face the difficulty of coming back home, to the world of constant need, constant noise, and constant exhaustion.

I chose the more difficult task (for me, at that time) of staying home because I didn't want to let myself experience even a tiny bit of disappointment when the end of a workday came and I might have found myself dreading the night to come. I wouldn't let myself be disappointed.

And I think it's been the same thing with leaving my daughters for longer than a day or night. Yes, there was an honest dose of plain attachment and the overpowering need to be close to my girls, but there was a part of me that feared my own reaction. I feared the possibility of feeling disappointed with my job as a mother upon returning. And not wanting to allow those feelings, I just never left.

Until now.

I left, I missed them, I came back, and I'm still happy with them. They're still crazy and chaotic and loud. I'm still outnumbered and exhausted and impatient. But I'm also content.

This is my life, and no amount of vacation away from it can make me want something different.

This is my life, and I'm honored and blessed to have it. Every sloppy, sweet, tiring, giggle-filled, impatient moment is just as it should be.

This is my life. And I love it. And now I know that fact better than I did before.